


Easy

by DanseDan



Category: Quién sabe? | A Bullet For The General (1967)
Genre: Emotional Manipulation, Hotel Sex, M/M, Orgasm Control, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Self-Denial
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-20
Updated: 2020-09-20
Packaged: 2021-03-08 01:00:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 787
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26556988
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DanseDan/pseuds/DanseDan
Summary: It was almost too easy.A half-cup of whiskey on your side, several more to your partner’s. Lean forward, nod a couple times, let your hands graze- slow, soft, obvious- while you reach for the bill from the hotel bar. A hand on the small of his back for the stumbling journey upstairs, and once inside, the slow trail up to collarbone onto the nape of his neck, grasping at the greying curls of his soft black hair, tugging with a slight suggestion, glancing.
Relationships: El Chuncho Muños/Bill "Niño" Tate
Kudos: 3





	Easy

**Author's Note:**

> Instead of working on anything I said I'd do, I did this. Whump- enjoy.

It was almost too easy.  
A half-cup of whiskey on your side, several more to your partner’s. Lean forward, nod a couple times, let your hands graze- slow, soft, obvious- while you reach for the bill from the hotel bar. A hand on the small of his back for the stumbling journey upstairs, and once inside, the slow trail up to the collarbone, onto the nape of his neck, grasping at the greying curls of his soft black hair, tugging with a slight suggestion, glancing. 

For this: the older man on his back, prone and mostly naked on the bed- pieces of the custom suit (your own direction, suitably becoming on him) strewn here and there, the silk tie knotted on his large, rough hands. His breathing is heavy- golden, ample chest heaving up and down with it, nipples pert with the light cold and heavy arousal. His cock in your hand, straining, leaking precome all over the calfskin gloves. Entirely at your mercy. That rare, warm euphoria bubbling up, loins to chest as the pleas from Chuncho become louder and less coherent- “por favor” at least a million times, a couple swears and a single “dios mio. Niño”.  
One shift of the hand grasping his cock- drawing one finger from the fist, stroking up to the tip on its way up, answered by another spurt of wetness on your palms, a futile buck of his hips against the hand that holds him down into the sheets, and a stilted groan. Chuncho’s eyes are locked tight in his arousal, his neck thrown back and defenseless, marred with a single fading mark. Still your hand, watch as it all comes into a pregnant silence, striking eyes reveal themselves, wet with effort, staring back into blue vigilance before breaking everything with a strangled wheeze of “please.”

You smile. Too good, he’s always too good, worth the months of waiting.

“Please what?” an even tone, feign ignorance while caressing the tip in loose circles. Look away, sit a little closer. 

“Please, Niño, let me come. Please.”

Hum in response. The warmth in your own body spiking from Chuncho’s sudden sharp intake of breath, his cock’s twitching as the sensation starts building up. Lean in, push your weight onto the hand on his hip, pressing it down. Lean in, ghost your voice over his neck. Keep your eyes on his. 

“Well, what about my gloves?

“who gives a damn about your- mngh!”  
A squeeze, for a warning.

“you’ll get my gloves dirty, Chuncho- dirtier than you already have.” Let go after than moment, but keep the pressure on the harsher side as you slip the hand down to his base. At this, a groan, deep and languid. Desperate eyes on his, straining to look up, lighting up with a sudden shift (you wonder, sometimes if this was the reason Chuncho never had to pay for sex. The sound, the sweat-glazed vision of his athletic chest, the rapt attention in his eyes).

“Niño. I’ll pay. I’ll-I’ll pay for them, for the gloves, so. Please, Niño let me come. Make me come, Niño. I’ll pay for a thousand pairs of gloves if I have to- I’ll-I’ll-“

Let Chuncho ramble this time- he grows in desperation with each second more of silence, stillness. Grows incoherent again with the agony, the loss of warmth. His dick leaking in sudden, meagre spurts. Reach down completely only when he shuts up- spring to action, stroking with a practiced diligence, a breakneck pace. Chuncho’s face contorts in pleasure, he screams his thanks like a true devotee. Run your thumb along the tip, the index finger reaching down to cover the whole dick at every moment, squeeze for friction until you can feel him twitching, hear him practically sing. Catch the load in the soft tan leather, ruin the palm permanently as you press against his chest and let yourself kiss him- all teeth and tongue, short-lived, but fierce, and pulling away with his tongue in hot pursuit. After the moment passes feel as the detail stuns you both into silence- untie him and undress, still erect. Feel the heated gaze at your back even as the lights shut off, tracking you like an animal, even as you shuffle into bed with him. Try to sleep as he leans on your shoulder, ignore the raspy whispers of “hey, Niño. Why’d you do that? Niño? “

Truth is, you don’t know why you kissed him either- it wasn’t in the plan, tonight. But then and in the moments after you’ll manage to convince yourself it was insurance. Keeping Chuncho around for a while would be useful, after all, why waste someone so eager to be controlled? Someone so good, so easy.


End file.
